


Inspirational

by bigasswritingmagnet (thekumquat)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Unrequited Love, have you guys read hard in hightown it's painfully obvious, making a character based on your friend and then shipping yourself with that character, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 07:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/pseuds/bigasswritingmagnet
Summary: Varric accidentally wrote Hawke into Hard in Hightown as Lady Marielle. He also accidentally wrote in his massive crush on her. It’s making writing his next chapter…difficult.





	Inspirational

_This close to her, the smell of lilacs was everywhere. He could taste it in the back of his throat, almost covering the copper bite of blood. Marielle reached out and pressed a hand to his cheek. Her palm was rough with the kind of calluses you earned, and blessedly warm after the icy rain outside._

_“Guardsman–” she began to say, and cut herself off. “Varric_

“Shit!”

Varric scribbled furiously over the mistake, cursing himself. Like it wasn’t bad enough he’d recreated Hawke in Lady Marielle, then wrote twelve chapters of the main character mooning over her. No, now he had to go and be  _obvious_ about it.

The worst part was, he hadn’t done it on purpose. He’d simply needed to create an alluring human noblewoman for his story, and come up with a series of traits that just so happened to describe Hawke down to the ground. When Varric wrote, he drew from experience, and when he’d needed to write a man just a little in love with an unattainable woman he’d…

Well, shit, he’d written a man hopelessly infatuated. With Hawke.

It was no good. The harsh strokes of black ink were heavy, but he was certain he could make out the shape of his name around the edges. He tried to make himself let it go. It wasn’t like anyone but him was ever going to see this page; it was only a first draft.  

Except it was the fifth first draft of this chapter, and  _he kept doing it_. He couldn’t seem to keep Marielle off the page, and every time she showed up, the narrative veered away from ‘gritty mystery’ and into ‘tragic romance’. Marielle was a widow, and one who’d been in love with her husband. She could not, would not start to fall for Donnen so quickly. It was unrealistic. It was cliche.

It was  _embarrassingly_ obvious.

A loud banging at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“Varric!” Hawke shouted from the other side. “Open up, I know you’re in there! I’ll break it down if I have to!”

Even the thought of Hawke seeing this particular error made him want to turn inside out with embarrassment. Hurriedly he tore the page up, taking care to ruin the part he’d crossed out. As Hawke continued to pound on the door, Varric crumpled all the pieces into a ball and tossed it in the fire.

“It’s open,” he called. “Don’t break my door.”

The banging stopped, and Hawke poked her head in.

“So it is! Varric, no one’s seen you in days.”

“I’m working.”

Hawke took in the current state of his rooms. He’d abandoned his desk three first drafts ago. Now his table was a small sea of crumpled up, ink stained paper, piled in little drifts against empty plates and cups. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“You need a break,” she said.

“I need to finish. I have a deadline.”

“And the deadline will still be there after you take a break!”

“Yes, Hawke, that’s the problem.”

Hawke gave an exaggerated sigh and crossed the room until she was looking over his shoulder at what was now the latest extant page of chapter 13. Anyone else would have been shooed away, but Varric just rested his elbows on the table and let her look.

“It’s terrible,” she announced.

“I know,” he said. “Why do you think I’ve been in here for three days?”

Hawke sighed heavily. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing up against his back and tucking her chin over his shoulder. This was not new. Hawke was affectionate with her friends. She’d pick Merrill up, or sling an arm around Fenris’ shoulders, or sit on Isabela’s lap, all without an ounce of self consciousness.

It did not, he told himself sternly, indicate that she felt any sort of particular interest in him, romantically or otherwise. Himself retaliated by pointing out that if he turned his head, he could easily press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Come downstairs and have a drink,” Hawke said. “Talk to real people. Air yourself out a little. You’ll get musty if you sit here in the dark any longer.”

Varric chuckled despite himself.

“Yes, that was rather clever, wasn’t it?” Hawke said, pleased. “You can borrow that one if you like. That’s my gift to you.”

“If I say ‘no, I need to work’, will you respect my answer and leave me alone?”

“Oh, Varric, you tell  _such_ good jokes.” Her grip around him tightened, and she pressed her cheek to his. “Come have  _fun_ ,” she insisted.

Varric had to swallow a few times, because his mouth had gone very dry. He’d never been able to place the floral scent that Hawke wore, and he’d never been able to think of a way to ask. It wasn’t overpowering, but the sweet, subtle cloud that wound around him nonetheless left him dizzy and breathless.

“Alright,” he managed at last. “You win.”

“Excellent!” Hawke kissed his cheek and stood, patting him on the shoulder. “Drinks and cards are ready and waiting!”

He was grateful that she didn’t look back as she left, as loudly and abruptly as she’d arrived, because he didn’t know how to explain why he was suddenly so flushed.


End file.
